


Collection of dreams

by Hashilavalamp



Category: Naruto
Genre: AUs, Alcohol, Angst, Blood, Death, Fluff, M/M, Various themes, references to sexual relationships, translations of works initially written in German by me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6498262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hashilavalamp/pseuds/Hashilavalamp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>//Drabble+One-Shot collection// In the pandemonium of war, you cling to every bit of hope that remains. But the dream of two boys will yield fruit and revolutionize the world. A dream that will forever connect Madara and Hashirama.</p><p>[Dream 4: Everything is an act of balance with them.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Short circuit

**Author's Note:**

> Alrightt, I've finally translated enough pieces to start and upload them! As the summary already tells you, this is a collection of One-Shots mostly with the one or another drabble. The chapters will not necessarily be connected or set in the same universe, so check the notes at the beginning of each chapter!  
> Since these are translations and my German writing is a bit different from my usual style, some parts may sound a little stiff; I try to adjust my translations to make it sound more alive, but I apologize in advance.
> 
> That's it from me, enjoy! Feedback is most welcome~

Everyone in the village was convinced that Hashirama Senju, God of Shinobi, was an ideal role model for all and an inspiration for those who believed in a better future.

Great that they couldn’t see him right now.

“Better now?”

Hashirama lifted his head slightly and with a miserable expression on his face looked up to Madara, who had let go of the Senju’s hair and had his arms sternly crossed in front of his chest now. Madara almost felt sympathetic.

“This usually doesn’t happen to me, I swear…” Hashirama simply moaned, letting his head hang again. At least he didn’t retch again. Madara scrunched his nose up at the memory.

“Hopefully. At least that way you retain some dignity. Now get up, idiot” Madara commanded harshly and rolled his eyes when Hashirama whimpered in response and didn’t make a move to get to his feet. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?

“I still feel nauseous…”

“So what? You can’t spend the whole night sleeping on my bathroom floor.”

“Yes I can! You’ll be asleep anyway, so what do you care!”

“I’m going to kick you out if you’re not gonna get up already!”

This at least proved effective. Slowly Hashirama pulled himself up by the toilet and then supported himself by leaning on the wall, obviously not quite trusting his legs yet. They did tremble and Hashirama’s face was unusually pale. He hadn’t lied in regards to the nausea at least.

“You’re cruel, did you know that?” whined Hashirama and pushed his bottom lip forward in a pout, but Madara was too annoyed tonight to fall for that trick again. Though when Hashirama stumbled when he pushed himself away from the wall, Madara sighed and put Hashirama’s arm over his shoulder to support him.  
This close up, he could distinctly make out the stench of alcohol.

Determined, Madara pulled Hashirama towards the sink with some difficulties and ordered Hashirama to wash out his mouth, before dragging the both of them towards the kitchen.  
Hashirama let himself plop down on one of the pillows around the low table in the room, while Madara looked after the tea he’d been making before Hashirama had rushed to the bathroom to empty his stomach.

With another sigh, Madara brought over the tray with the tea pot and two cups and set it down on the table, sitting down across from Hashirama, who by now had his head propped up on his arms and still looked far from chipper.

He was uncharacteristically quiet as he thanked Madara for the tea and only carefully took sips of his beverage. After a short silence that, due to the late hour, was not even interrupted by outside noise, Madara eventually asked “Why did you get so hammered anyway?” He sounded a lot less accusatory than intended. Perhaps he had been harsh enough earlier.

Hashirama groaned and tilted his head a bit to the side, eyes closed and brows furrowed. “I didn’t mean to drink that much!” he assured him, “the leader of the Inuzuka proposed that we celebrate the successful negotiations and I just… didn’t pay enough attention to how much I was drinking!”

Madara barely resisted the urge to hide his face in his hands at the second-hand embarrassment. Of course. Of course Hashirama would get drunk right after talks with a new ally in the presence of said ally.

Eventually he shook his head and took a sip of his own tea. “You’re impossible, Senju.”

Despite his miserable state, Hashirama grinned at these words. “Yeah yeah, and I am lucky that you are so generous and endure me. I really am thankful for you, especially because you held back my hair.” As if on cue, Hashirama brushed a strand of his hair behind his ear, chuckling quietly to himself.

“Hn” Madara merely grunted and avoided eye contact with the Senju, who simply proceeded to laugh. The Uchiha’s cheeks were practically burning and he fell into grave silence. Hopefully the reddening of his cheeks wasn’t visible in the dim light of the lamp.

Hashirama at least didn’t seem to notice. He took a sip of his tea every once in a while and had closed his eyes once more, apparently exhausted from the long night and its undignified end. By now his face had regained some color, which was a good sign, even if Madara wasn’t sure whether Hashirama could make it all the way to his home just yet.

Madara allowed himself to study Hashirama’s face a bit more.  
After all Hashirama rarely kept still long enough for something like this, and Madara… liked it when Hashirama wasn’t so overly bubbly. He seemed more… mature.

Maybe he also liked that Hashirama was only this calm when they were alone.  
Hashirama pushed the cup away from himself after a while and straightened up. “Mhm, I think I’m better now. I’m at least not feeling so dizzy anymore…”

“Are you going home then?” Madara inquired with a raised eyebrow, which caused Hashirama to ponder the question for a moment. “Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome and test your generous hospitality, you would attempt to strangle me within the hour” he joked, though he didn’t quite seem as if he wanted to leave.

Hashirama slowly got up, still not fully secure on his two legs, but at least not seeming as if he’d trip and fall any moment. He didn’t look quite as pathetic anymore.

Madara fought with himself for a second. On one hand, Hashirama deserved to suffer for such a mistake, after all it should be a lesson to stay away from alcohol. But then, he’d spent half the night cowering on the bathroom floor like a picture of misery with his head next to the toilet.

“Stay there” Madara told him and already cursed himself within the same breath. He stood up and left for his bedroom to set up a second futon a bit distanced from him own that he’d already gotten out on the tatami mats before Hashirama’s arrival.

The yukata Madara found would be too small for Hashirama, but that would be an inconvenience Hashirama would just have to live with.

The bundle of clothing pressed to his chest, the Uchiha returned to the kitchen, where a vaguely confused Hashirama still stood. Wordlessly, Madara threw the yukata and disappeared again into the bath to clean his teeth. He had to keep busy, because the alternative would be to think about whether he’d just made the right decision.

An odd sense of anxiety spread in him, settling deep in his bones and constricting around his rib cage, and Madara hated it.

But too late, he’d have to endure this now.

Hashirama should give the damn office of Hokage to him out of sheer gratitude already, damn it.

When he left the bath, Hashirama already passed by him, and even out of his peripheral vision Madara could tell that the yukata didn’t fit.

Madara flitted to his bedroom and pulled the lamp there closer to his bed so he would not be forced get up later in order to kill the light, and already lied down and pulled up his blanket. His heart was beating much too quickly, and already hope that he’d manage to fall asleep quickly was leaving him. But if he pretended to sleep, Hashirama would leave him alone.

He pressed his face into the hard pillow and didn’t move a muscle when he felt Hashirama’s presence fill the room. The Senju walked across the straw mats over to his sleeping place, staggered slightly before he…

“The fuck are you doing there, Hashirama?” Madara grumbled, voice muffled through the fabric.

Hashirama gave no reply as he pushed his futon closer and closer to Madara’s until the two were right next to each other.

“In case I’ll feel sick again later, I can wake you more quickly this way. And I won’t accidentally step on you!” Hashirama claimed as he lied down much too close for Madara’s comfort.

Madara was too exhausted and tense to argue about this with Hashirama. And there was some reason to that, wasn’t there? It was… fine this way. And Hashirama radiated oddly calming warmth…

Ugh.

At least Hashirama finally shut his mouth.

Madara paid close attention to Hashirama’s breathing until it was so slow and steady that Madara could assume that he was asleep. The Uchiha killed the light and pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

Against his nervousness and the dull feeling that he’d made a mistake, Madara sensed that the quiet breathing and the warmth coming from Hashirama rather calmed him, as strange as that was. It didn’t take long until he was about to slip into dreams…

“Madaraaaa.”

That couldn’t fucking be.

There was some rustling, then Hashirama leaned over to him.

“Thank you, for letting me sleep here and for helping me tonight.”

Madara froze on the spot when Hashirama bent down over him and touched his lips against Madara’s.

“Goodnight~” chirped Hashirama before retreating to his bed and didn’t make another sound.

What  
was that.

Madara’s mind was suddenly in turmoil.

Even though the kiss had barely lasted a second, so short that Madara’s brain barely had time to process what had occurred, but his lips tingled nonetheless and when he licked over them to get rid of the sensation, he tasted tea.

His hands gripped the sheets tightly; heat crawled up his neck and spilled across his cheeks as his heart threatened to jump out of his chest.

What  
had that idiot been thinking?!

Madara tried in vain to understand what had happened, but apparently with so much effort that it lead to some sort of short circuit in his brain that made him give in to the first impulse, there was no other way the Uchiha could rationalize it.

Overcome with a surprising sense of determination and courage Madara sat up ramrod-straight, bowed over Hashirama’s now truly asleep body and pressed his lips against those of his friend, his eyes screwed shut.

An eye for an eye, or something.

Madara stayed in place for a moment as the sensation was deeply burned into his memory and then scrambled backwards to lie back down on his futon.

He kept his eyes close, listening to whether Hashirama would move or if something about his breathing changed, but nothing happened. He apparently hadn’t noticed a thing.

Madara could barely believe what he’d done, but he didn’t want to deal with the feelings raging inside him just yet.

He turned onto his stomach and wrapped himself into his blanket, forcing himself to not think of anything.

Hashirama had probably still been a little drunk, and he wasn’t aware that Madara had kissed him, so it was as if nothing had happened at all.  
With that thought, Madara managed to fall asleep.

He could think about his bad life choices in the morning.


	2. Like Crows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter to show you what I mean with "various themes" in the tags ;D   
> Enjoy, and thank you for the kudos and comments so far <3
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: blood, death, and Izuna

It was rare for Madara to be part of an autopsy-squad, but many of the other clan members were either not experienced enough, already tasked with something else, or their injuries were still too heavy to send them out again.

So he was left with just a handful of fellow Uchiha, two women and his younger brother among them, who at the break of dawn stealthily moved towards a nearby battlefield.

Uchiha itself stayed out of the conflict that caused it – after all they had not been hired by either side of it and why risk your life in a battle where you have nothing to gain? It had been Izuna and Hikaku who had discovered the aftermath on a patrol and had claimed that nobody had yet come to retrieve the bodies.  
Madara felt a sense of unease as they closed in on the plain. Like everyone else, he had a cloth tied around his head that covered his nose and mouth, so the stench of decomposition from the corpses didn’t hit him as hard, but there was no doubt that what stood before them would be sickening.

Deep inside he wished that the involved clans had already come to claim their dead and there would thus be no point in searching for anything valuable.  
Madara hated this job.

It was easy to kill.

To return to the scene, to experience the bloodshed in absolute and utter silence as you cut up the bodies and search for information, that is something else entirely.

Izuna gave him a signal; Madara closed his eyes and searched for any trace of lingering or approaching chakra in the vicinity of the field. They couldn’t afford to be interrupted in their dirty work, or in the worst case be caught up in a skirmish when there were so few of them.

Luckily for them, Madara didn’t sense anyone alive but them around, so he nodded towards his troop to signal them that they could now leave their hiding places.

As quietly as possible, Madara crept out of the underbrush until the grass began to give way for dry, dead earth.

He lifted his head to take in the extent of the battle that had taken place, and froze on the spot.

Before him stretched out a wide expanse of land, the ground deformed in various places which hinted at Douton-use, and as expected there were dead bodies littered everywhere. But the part about this image that left Madara shaken were the thick and gnarled branches and roots that seemed to snake their way across the entire battlefield. Not few enemy shinobi had been pierced by them.

Hashirama had fought here. His battlefields were unmistakable.  
Madara’s stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight.

Damn. Damn, thankfully no Uchiha had been in this encounter. Thankfully none of his men had perished here.

Madara stumbled slightly when he came to stand next to his brother who was currently inspecting a corpse at his feet.

“This one isn’t Nara after all. Somebody from a clan that follows Shimura perhaps, but I feel like there will be nothing of value to find here after all” Izuna noted lightly and clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he carelessly dropped the body that he had pulled up by the collar of the fallen.

Izuna shot his brother an inquisitive glance across the edge of his provisional mask when he earned no response. “Something the matter?”

Madara simply shook his head and stepped over the body, briefly eyeing a corpse to the side before he moved on again through the carnage. “It really does not seem like there will be anything for us to find here. If there were, they’d make more of an effort to dispose of the bodies” he eventually pointed out and faced Izuna, whose attention was focused on one of the unfortunate ones that were caught by Hashirama’s Mokuton.

Izuna tilted his head from side to side as if pondering his statement, then glanced over to Madara. “Mhm, it seems I did assess this situation incorrectly. No Nara around after all. We should still keep our eyes open and look around a little more.”

At these words he peered up at the carcass that dangled a bit above the ground from the naked branch. He playfully nudged the arm, watched it sway with a truly morbid fascination.

Izuna’s tone was as if they were having a casual chat, and from his position, Madara could make out the ice-cold look in his eyes.

This job was not good for Izuna, not at all.

As soon as they’d return to camp, Madara vowed to ensure his brother would never again be assigned to a job like this.

Izuna scared him like this.

The only thing that showed that Izuna was somehow affected by this sight, that is got under his skin, was that he did not active his Sharingan. Even he didn’t wish to commit this to memory.

In silence they strode across the field, looking for bodies whose autopsy could yield them some kind of information, a little advantage. It was tedious and nauseating work that gnawed at Madara at every step, even if these were not his men that lay scattered on the ground, bled out, burned, bones crushed and splintered. But he knew that their own battles against Senju would hardly look any different from this.

The only difference was that usually he was there to keep Hashirama busy.

That was  
the difference.

Any time that he wasn’t around, when he couldn’t head out to battle, then…

“Izuna.”

“Brother?”

Crouching next to a corpse, Izuna innocently looked up to his brother when he approached and didn’t bother to stand up.

“You lured me here on purpose.”

Izuna knew that Madara would not be able to endure this for long, and he knew how much Madara struggled to reconcile these images with the child back at the river. And oh was that a thorn in his side.

Izuna’s expression, or what was visible of it, didn’t change at the accusation, however the way the younger one’s eyes narrowed just the slightest bit didn’t escape Madara’s notice. Caught.

Izuna turned back to the dead body to study it, nearly leading Madara to believe that his brother would not attempt to defend himself on this charge, but then he spoke.

“And what brings you to this suspicion?”

Madara was not in the mood for such mind games now of all times. He was not in the mood to let Izuna have his way. It was tiring, and never resulted in anything good.

“You wanted me to see this, to see what Hashirama has done” said Madara, barely suppressing the sudden anger at the thought that his own brother was doing this to him.

“Aa. Indeed.”

“You wanted to show me this so that I stop thinking about the contract that Hashirama sent us.”

“True.”

At least Izuna was being honest about this. In the past he would have tried to cover it up and weasel his way out of it. But with every clan member that fell, Madara grew more exhausted and Izuna more determined. He no longer sought to conceal his hatred.

For just a moment, Izuna’s hand hovered over the little pouch attached to his belt that Madara knew contained a scalpel, but after a moment of hesitation, the younger Uchiha pulled his hand back and rose to his feet to meet Madara’s gaze head-on. 

Izuna had stayed just a few centimeters shorter than him. A proper little brother.

Madara was taken aback by how alive with emotion his dark eyes were all of a sudden.

“You forget.”

His tone was venomous, bitter. Disappointed.

“Izuna” Madara admonished him and threateningly took a sharp step forward – they had had that discussion just recently, but Izuna refused to budge and glared right back.

“But it’s true! You forget what it looks like when you happen to not be around for once. When you’re there, you are all that he cares about. Doesn’t even attempt to attack us. But this is what it looks like! That’s his craft! If you think he’s just the tiniest bit nobler or better than the dirt beneath our feet, then you’re still chasing empty dreams! He’s destroying you!”

In the deafening silence that pressed down on them, Izuna’s increasingly loud voice was like a slap to the face, words echoing across this graveyard.

Of course. Of course Izuna was right. Madara knew that. 

What Izuna didn’t see though, was that things could not continue like this. Either side was butchering the other; Uchiha was victim and executioner in one. Their battlefields were simply a little cleaner. And they were slowly losing the war that raged beyond their contracts. Their pride drove them to their graves.

And even Madara had grown weary, so weary that it numbed all his anger and his pain.

He didn’t want to spend his every morning fighting down the bile that rose up on his throat in the wake of his nightmares, didn’t want to see his family burn in pyres, every week, every month. And he didn’t want to lose Izuna in this.

When he saw with what callousness Izuna viewed the bloodbath that surrounded them, then he sometimes feared that death wouldn’t be the worst fate that Izuna could meet.

And most of all, he was tired of fighting Hashirama.

Since the day he had awoken his Sharingan, he had desired nothing more than to lie down his arms. He never wished for war with Hashirama, but that had never been his to decide.

And now… the opportunity was just in reach.

He just had to extend his hand and take Hashirama’s.

It could be so easy.

Hashirama understood him. Hashirama would not resent him for taking so long. He would accept him, and Madara knew that despite all the death that lay behind them, he would pardon Hashirama. Never quite forgive, that he owed to his family, but they were both clan heads, they were aware that sometimes you had to commit atrocious things, who would understand him if not Hashirama?

Who could understand Hashirama if not him?

His chest ached at the thought.

The words were burning on his tongue, but not one would cross his lips. Something about the look Izuna was giving him hindered him.

“You betray our ancestors and our brothers when you forget” Izuna stressed once more, bitterness dripping from every syllable.

The words hit their mark, and as much as it hurt, as much as he wanted to defend himself against this outrageous accusation, Madara dropped the conversation and didn’t deny anything. He could only lose.

After an hour of digging through the dead, he called back his squad and they headed back to their camp with their meager spoils.

Once they arrived, Madara decreed that never again should Izuna be sent to collect or study bodies in the aftermath of a battle.  
Afterwards he sat down to study the contract he had received from Hashirama in secret again.

Hashirama had held this piece of parchment in his hands, he had put these words there.

It would be so easy to dip his brush in ink and sign the contract.  
With trembling hands and a sickening taste in his mouth, he ripped it to little pieces that he burned to rid himself of any last bit of evidence that Senju had offered peace and an alliance to them.

He couldn’t place his own childish and selfish wishes and Hashirama before his brother.

He couldn’t do that to Izuna.

As much as he wanted to.


	3. Obstacles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short and sorta fluffy <3 First of the translations, so I had to go back to edit it a little, it flows a bit better now.  
> Thank you for the kudos and comments!! ;u;

Madara was… heavier than expected.

Maybe he should’ve thought about a good sleeping position for them beforehand. 

Not too long ago Hashirama had first managed to convince Madara to not leave in a hurry every time after they slept with each other. First he was met with flatout refusal and harsh words of rejections, then there was eventually some willingness on the other's part to attempt this. It had cost Madara a tremendous effort, and even then he had slept at the furthest edge of the bed the first night, always tense and vigilant.

Each night they had gotten closer to one another.

By now they were so far that Madara would cuddle close to him and sleep by his side even when they didn’t have sex leading up to it.   
And as happy as that made Hashirama, all the issues of shinobi sharing a bed aside: Madara was not particularly light.

The partners the Senju had had so far had been women, rather dainty for the most part, and they hadn’t used him as a pillow for the night. None of these things applied to Madara. 

Hashirama had in his fantasies underestimated the weight of muscle and that Madara finally ate normally, as good as that was, didn’t exactly help the problem.   
The man had fallen asleep unusually quickly, his head on Hashirama’s shoulder, upper body half on Hashirama’s, leg tangled with one of Hashirama’s. It had been comfortable in the beginning, a certain warmth radiated from Madara due to his fire natured chakra, and Hashirama’s heart was filled with love anytime he saw Madara’s peaceful face.  
But eventually it just got too heavy for him to be comfortable.

Hashirama sighed and moved carefully until he was free from Madara. The Uchiha didn’t move at all. He stayed lying down on his stomach, face turned to the side, eyes closed shut in his slumber. Even in the dim light coming through Hashirama’s window he could make out his features, so familiar they were to him.  
Hashirama rolled on his side and wriggled closer to Madara, tentatively putting an arm around him, mindful to not trigger any unfortunate warrior instincts, and eventually Hashirama settled comfortably against his lover.   
There, that was better. Not ideal, but better.

Haa, sharing a bed with Madara really wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped, but with some effort, it could be done. Hashirama still wanted to talk to Madara about this soon.   
After all Hashirama needed his sleep.

(Hashirama wasn’t aware that Madara had had the very same thoughts the night before because Hashirama was no less heavy than Madara. Just had the Uchiha accepted his fate and silently plotted revenge, which explained why he had eaten Hashirama’s breakfast as well as his own that morning, and with such an oddly sullen expression too.)


	4. Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THAT I FORGOT TO UPLOAD MORE CHAPTERS HERE! D: But I haven't forgotten, do not worry!  
> Thank you for the feedbaack <3

Madara had to be careful not to move around too much since this bath tub was definitely not built for two. Hashirama had insisted they share a bath together, and despite all his misgivings, Madara had let himself be dragged into it as always.

He was all too lenient when Hashirama was involved. Being with him was not good for him.

(But the alternative appealed a lot less to Madara. Therefore, he was unfortunately forced to live with this.)

“Be careful, idiot” he half-heartedly chided the other when he shifted his position slightly, the water swashing dangerously at this motion.

“My knee will hurt if I stay like this!” Hashirama replied lightly and let his head fall back, wearing an easy smile on his face, “and then you’d have to take care of me. That’d be just awful for the both of us.”

“What lets you think I’d take care of you just because your knee hurts a little? Are you honestly a shinobi and a medic at that? I am starting to believe that was just my imagination” grumbled Madara, resisting the urge to settle into a more comfortable position himself. Pointing out to Hashirama that he had gotten himself into this situation was unnecessary.

Hashirama hummed happily, not in the least perturbed by Madara’s words. “Because I’d whine and whine until you do it, you kind soul. And besides, sex would only be half as much fun if I can’t move properly.”

Madara would have loved to give Hashirama a good punch for that comment, as weak as that would make him seem. He was not quite yet at the point at which it didn’t make his cheeks color with embarrassment whenever Hashirama made such remarks. At least like this he could blame it on the water…

“Stop acting as if your leg would fall off. The pain from an uncomfortable position fades within seconds” he hissed eventually, his weary mind not able to come up with a witty comeback.

Hashirama merely chuckled. “Alright alright. You should perhaps relax a little.”

“Ah, and how is that supposed to work when we’re stuck together way too close in such a small bath tub?”  
“Oh, we’ve been _a lot_ closer—“  
“You know what I mean!”

Again Hashirama let out a chuckle, but it rang oddly hollow and he simply dropped the topic.

Of course Hashirama knew what Madara meant.

No matter how many disagreements stood between them, there’s been a connection to one another from the beginning, an understanding that ran deep between kindred spirits.

It was no little trifle for a shinobi to expose himself like this. No place left for hidden weapons, no fabric or armor to cover just the barest minimum. Theoretically they were taking a huge risk with presenting themselves to the other in such a manner. This was something else, something more intimate still than sleeping with each other.  
Hashirama didn’t care about relaxing, he wanted Madara to feel comfortable in his presence. Have Madara trust him finally.

Well, nice try.

Madara had merely addressed Hashirama’s intentions, had not even referred to them in an explicit fashion, and yet that alone had been enough to ruin the mood. Oh, the Uchiha had quite the talent for that.  
Discomfort quickly spread within him and the anxiety that he had suppressed so well rose to the surface, prickling like ants on his skin. He couldn’t stand this any longer. He attempted to climb out of the tub without spilling any of the water.

“Madara?” Hashirama called almost alarmed, bordering on hurt, as he grabbed his towel and hastily tied it around his waist, “I’m sorry if—“

The one spoken to quickly waved it off before Hashirama could speak another word and began gathering up his clothes. “I will be waiting for you outside. So hurry up.”

Madara didn’t stay to see Hashirama’s reaction. He didn’t want to hear apologies; Hashirama hadn’t asked for much, only for some intimacy. Madara had agreed to the attempt. It was his fault that it had failed.  
He’d messed it up once more.

This time though he wouldn’t just leave. Hashirama hadn’t deserved that.

And so he remained in Hashirama’s room, dressed down to the gloves and too restless to sit down somewhere. He inhaled deeply when Hashirama, still in towel, entered the room after a while.

The kiss was hesitant, as if Hashirama were suddenly unsure of how far he could go. Determined to make it up to him, Madara dragged him closer and deepened the kiss.

(Whatever the people may say, Madara didn’t like letting Hashirama suffer.)


End file.
